Little Men in a Big City
by deadpenguin
Summary: The Nac Mac Feegle visit Ankh to visit their cousin Wee Mad Arthur. Meanwhile, in the city, Tom the blacksmith's apprentice is having a bad day. This is my first FF. R&R PLEASE!
1. Little Blue Men

**_Disclaimer: I do not own the Discworld or any of its characters. I do not earn any profit whatsoever from this story. I am doing this merely for pleasure._**

**Chapter 1 : Little Blue Men**

This is the Discworld, a world carried through space on the back of four elephants, who are in turn standing on the great, meteor-pocked shell of the Great A'tuin, a giant turtle slowly swimming through the depths of the universe. Many people find this fact impossible to entertain, as how could such large elephants exist? Or how could they not get friction burns? You might as well ask what sound orange makes, or if an awkward silence can swim.

_This _is Ankh Morpork, economic and industrial hub of the Discworld, 'Citie of One Thousande Suprises', echoing with the cries of street vendors, locals and tourists learning the quaint and folkloresque culture of Ankh¹. This is the city where any barbarian invader would wake up holding a pink umbrella and wondering where his horse was, why his head was hurting so much, and why his wallet was a lot lighter than it was before. This is the city where thieves prowl the dark alleys, and assassins creep across the red tile roofs. This is the city where the wizards are sleepy old men with tangled beards and puffy eyes who pore over boring books. This is the city where dreams can come true...

'Crivens, Daft Wullie, are ye sure this be the way tae the big city? I be thinkin' we shoulda taken thet other turn, ye ken?' whispered Rob Anybody, leader of the clan of Wee Free Men.

'I swear to the fact that I hev the brains o' a beetle thet I be sure this be the way.' replied Wullie, tripping over a loose stone in the road.

'Och, we've gotta git tae thet there city, we've got imporrrtant matters there.' said Rob.

'An' we've gotta git back in time tae take care o' the ships².' This was Aw'flly Titchy Billy, the gonnagle³ of the Nac Mac Feegle.

'Nah, oor big wee hag can taek care of 'em' said Daft Wullie.

'Crivens, Wullie ye scunner, dinnae gimme thet blethers!' yelled Anybody. 'Ye'd bett'r git us tae thet city or I'll be telling oor kelda!'

Their shouts and scuffles faded into the mist of the small country road.

In the great city of Ankh-Morporkh, Tom the blacksmith's apprentice woke up with a start. _Where am I? _He looked nervously around, and discovered that he was safe at home. _If I'm at home, then where are all those little blue men? It must have been a dream. Just a dream..._

¹ Such as: 'Sausage-inna-bun! Gitchore sausage-inna-bun! Git 'em while they're fresh and luvverly!', 'Buggrit' and 'Hey! Don't wave that knife at me you little…ARRGGHH!'

² Fluffy things that eat grass and go 'baa'. Easily confused with the other kind.

³ Gonnagles are the battle poets of the Wee Free Men. Words can be weapons.

 No one cared about him enough to want to kill him.


	2. Pink Bunny Slippers

**Chapter 2 : Pink Bunny Slippers**

After one hour lying in bed not wanting to get up, Tom finally yawned, stretched, and got out of bed. He ran out into the street, and sped in the direction of the Street of Cunning Artificers. On the way, he noticed people were staring at him oddly. Even Foul Ole Ron - the tramp who smelt so bad that his smell had a character - was eyeing him strangely, and saying,

'Oops! Buggrit...' in an unusual way. He wondered what everyone was staring at, as he ran down the street to the blacksmith's hut.

He ran through the doorway and skidded into the hot, smoky, furnace room.

'WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!' screamed the blacksmith, who Tom only knew as sir.

'Mumblemumble, sir' stuttered Tom.

'Speak up lad!' shouted the grease-covered blacksmith.

'I had a weird dream sir, like a vision.' mumbled Tom.

'A vision? Of what?' inquired the blacksmith, calmer now.

'S-s-some little b-b-blue men with r-red hair, s-sir.' he managed.

'I have had some experience in such matters. People who see the sacred wolf are called shamans, people who see a venerable old man with a large beard are called priests, but people who see little blue men with red hair are called IDIOTS!' yelled the blacksmith. 'And what the HELL are you doing wearing your pink pyjamas into my hut?!'

Tom looked down at his shoes - wait...pink bunny slippers?! He felt his head...a fluffy nightcap?! Oh no...

'Crivens, what be that smell?! Wullie, ye didnae take off yer shoes did ye?' said Rob.

'Nae, but I can if ye be wantin' me tae.' answered Daft Wullie.

'Wullie?'

'Yes Rob?' said Wullie.

'Do ye remember when ye tol' me tae tell ye when ye sed somethin' stupid?'

'Yes Rob.'

'Thet was one o' those times.'

'Ah.'

They walked on towards the city gates. As they approached, the smell got worse.

'Wullie?' asked Rob.

'Yes Rob?'

'Are ye sure ye didnae take off yer shoes?'

'I swear tae the fact thet I be havin' the brains o' a beetle that I didnae tek me shoes off.'

'Fair enough then...' concluded Rob. 'Awf'lly Titchy?'

'Yes Rob?'

'What d'ye ken aboot this here city?'

'Lemme see now...hmm...' Awf'lly Titchy Billy rummaged around in his small backpack, and his hand darted back out triumphantly holding a brochure with the words 'Ankh Morpork - Citie of An Thousande Suprises' on it. 'Okie now, I'll read ye a bittie of this here brochure.'

All the pictsies stopped walking and instantly sat down on the cobbles. It was always a good idea to listen to the gonnagle. You never knew, it might always turn out to be interesting.

Billy started reading,

'_Welcom to the citie of an thousande suprises. We hop you wille have a goode tyme in our quaint and folkloresque citie. Belowe is a liste of the areas in oure beatifulle citie._

_The Shades_

_This is the oldeste and moste culturalle parte of oure citie, it echoes withe the soundes of the locales goinge aboute they're bussiness_.'

'Well lads, thets all we be hevin' time fer, so we'd better offski now.' said Rob Anybody.

Grumbling and muttering, the Nac Mac Feegle got to their feet and trudged along the road towards the old, corroded gates of the city.

 A member of the Beggars Guild. On his guild card, his category was classified as 'Foul Ole Ron'. This had caused much controversy among the members of the guild, but they eventually came to a conclusion that there was no category that described him fully. Even stinking, groaning, ratty, old bugger didn't fit him.

 The city of Ankh Morpork had, over the years, developed its own unique smell. Many of the inhabitants had such a poor sense of smell that, if sprayed by a skunk, would walk around for a couple of hours before saying,

'What's that smell?'

The reason the city had such a strong smell was partly because of the Ankh, the river that the city was built over. On its path, it passed many fields that were full of cattle...and well...you know what I mean. Also, the absence of a proper sewage system³ in the city meant that the city emitted a smell of...well...human waste.

³ In Ankh, the toilet was a bucket and the waste disposal system was the window.

 In other words, you have been warned.


	3. Trick of the Light

**Chapter 3 : Trick of the Light**

Tom hammered at the glowing iron, shaping it into a rough sword. He had had to work much harder today, as Sir had thought that he came up with a pathetic excuse, and still wouldn't forgive him for coming to the smithy in pink pyjamas.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he had seen a little blue man with flaming red hair on the anvil, sticking his middle finger up in a simple gesture known throughout the disc.

He rubbed his eyes.

He looked back.

There was nothing.

'Just a trick of the light, Tom, just a trick of the light.' he muttered silently to himself.

He continued hammering at the red hot blade. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

'Crivens, d'ye think he saw me lads?' whispered Wullie, quite a bit too loudly.

'Did you hear that? Sir?' asked Tom.

'I don't know what you're talking about. Get back to work, young man.' snapped Sir sternly.

Tom turned back sullenly, and started hammering the glowing blade of iron into a sword. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

'Wullie ye scuggan, did ye hef tae whisper sae loud?' muttered Rob Anybody. Unfortunately, even for their height, they did not have the talent to speak and not be heard.

'Sir, I could swear I heard something just now!' said Tom emphatically.

'Don't try to wriggle your way out of working, young man. I didn't hear anything.' scolded the blacksmith.

_'He must be bloody deaf...',_ thought Tom to himself.

CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. The sound echoed through the hut. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

'We must be offski!' shouted Rob, and the whole clan of pictsies vanished into the distance in a blue and red blur.

'Now, Billy, ye ken where oor coozin Wee Mad Arthur be livin', sae tek us there now.' said Rob, while travelling faster than the human eye can follow.

'Yes, Rob, I ken, now will ye follow me?' said Awf'lly Titchy Billy.

'Nac Mac Feegle, we must offski! Follae yer gonnagle!' shouted Rob.

The pictsies zoomed along the dirty cobbles of Ankh Morpork, and into a sewer. Once inside the sewer, all the Feegles skidded to a standstill. Daft Wullie crashed into a door. They proceeded to have a free-for-all. Once the punching, kicking and headbutting subsided, they all looked up at a faded old sign:

**"WEE MAD" ARTHUR**

For those little thinges that get you down

Rats : **FREE**

Mise : 1p per 10 tails

Moleses : 1-5p deppending on size

Warsps : 10-20p a nest Hornets : Similer by arranjement

SMALL FEES ● **BIG JOBS**

'Well Wullie? Are ye gonna knock?' said Rob.

'Yes Rob.' replied Wullie, and obediently rapped on the cardboard door.

The door opened a fraction, and a blue head with red hair stuck out. The head proceded to yell at top volume.

'I TOLD YEZ THAT I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT WHAT YER BLOODY GUILD SEZ ABOUT ME CATCHIN' RA - Oh, it's you. Do come in.'

The feegles walked through the door into the darkness.

 At the time, it was used for the dismissal of demons. It is still, broadly speaking, used for the same thing.


	4. Cardboard Soled

**Chapter 4 : Cardboard-Soled Shoes**

'Sae, Arthur, how's the old ret-cetchin' business gaein? I heard thet ye were really daein' well, ye ken?' asked Rob Anybody.

'Well, right now its going pretty well, 'cept them bastards at the Rat Catcher Guild keep comin' in an' tryin' to steal my business. Las' time, I sen' two o' the buggers away wiv achin' behinds.' said Wee Mad Arthur.

'Guid tae see ye've bin keepin' up clan tradishuns.' replied Rob, encouragingly.

'How's stuff back a' the farm, Rob? I hear you go' a new kelda now.' said Arthur, chattily.

'Well, its business a' usual, ye ken, still protectin' the shipbeasties, askin' fer nuthin' in return.' replied Anybody.

''Ceptin' the occasional ship or coobeastie, an' things we fin' aroond the place, ye ken, in locked drawers an' such.' Wullie put in.

'Wullie?'

'Yes Rob?' said Daft Wullie, oblivious to the obvious.

'Thet wuz anuther o' them times.'

'Yes Rob.' said Wullie downheartedly.

'Well, Arthur, we cannae hang aroond all day, sae we'd better be offski now, we gotta visit oor buzzard. The one i' the Watch ye ken. I dae haepe thet oor friend Buggy be tekin guid care o' 'er' said Rob walking towards the door, 'But we'll be droppin' in on ye, sae be ready.'

'Ok then, see yez later.' said Wee Mad Arthur, and with that, he closed the worn door after them in rather a hurry.

'Bloody relatives...as if I haven' got problems o' my own, what with them authorities...' he muttered to himself darkly.

Tom trudged along the mossy cobbles of Ankh looking down at his feet, and musing on how bad his life was. He walked along, ignoring Dibbler's cries of 'Sausage-inna-bun!! Get 'em while 'ey're 'ot an' luvverly! So fresh the pig ha'n't noticed!'. He plodded along the wet pavement, heading towards his tiny shack in the shades, while grumbling and looking down at his worn, cardboard-soled shoes.

Suddenly, a horde of blue-and-red blurs zoomed right into him, and carried on moving. He was knocked over by the impact and fell into the road. A speeding cart, a big clay-transportation carriage charged towards him.

The world went black.

 One of the oldest, most popular feegle traditions was the one where you beat the shit out of people meddling in your business. It is still used by many corporate businesses, except the pictsies preferred to use their heads. Literally.

 Big, blobby things that go 'Moo' and eat grass.

 It was about to get a lot worse.

 It was drawn by bulls. He was wearing a red shirt. Need I say more?

 It might have gone white...it's hard to tell with these situations.


	5. Patchwork Man

**Chapter 5 : Patchwork Man**

Tom woke up. He was aching all over. He looked around. He was lying on a road. There were several people surrounding him. They did not appear to be trying to attack him, rob him, or kick him. He took that as a positive sign, and crumpled back down on the wet, mossy cobblestones of the road.

Suddenly, he was lifted off the ground by the back of his shirt. A loud voice that could only be described as gravelly shouted,

'IS YOU AWARE DAT YOU IS CAUSIN' AN PUBLIC DISTURBANCE?!'

'I am not aware that I am, sir. Could you put me down please, my good sir?' said Tom nervously.

'IS YOU RESISTIN' ARREST?! DAT IS NOT A SMART MOVE, I AM WARNIN' YOU!' barked the troll.

'That's enough Detritus. Put the poor man down.' ordered a burly young man with wavy orange hair.

Sergeant Detritus dropped Tom onto the cold, hard cobbles. He shrunk into a sad heap of clothes and flesh.

'YES CARROT, SIR!' shouted Detritus. There was a 'CLINK' as he saluted.

'Take this young man away, and put him in a cellar in the Watch House.' said Carrot calmly, turning away, 'Oh, and send him over to Igor. He looks pretty bad.'

'YES CAPTAIN SIR!'

Captain Carrot continued his patrol, legs swinging like pendulums as he strolled down the street in a leisurely copper's gait.

'ALL RIGHT DEN, YOU 'ORRIBLE LITTLE MAN, YOU 'EARD DER CAPTAIN, GET UP AN' WE BE GOING TO DER WATCH HOUSE!' barked Detritus.

'Excuse me, sir?' said Tom hesitantly.

'YES?'

'Could you not talk so loud, sir? Only, it's hurting my ears.' explained Tom.

'Oh, all right den. Now are you comin', or will I have to make you?' threatened the sergeant.

Tom tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his leg made him slump onto the hard cobbles again. Detritus lifted him up roughly by the back of his shirt.

'I guess dat I have to...' grumbled sergeant Detritus, and walked towards the Chittling Street Watch House, with Tom dangling from his hand.

Tom closed his eyes and groaned. He groaned until he felt better. Argh...his life was a mess. And where had it all started? Little blue men. Little blue men. He was gonna get those little blue men.

'Little blue men...' he giggled to himself ecstatically, while swaying with every giant step that the sergeant took, 'Little blue men!'

The sergeant looked at him with a quizzical expression on his face.

'Are you all right?' asked Detritus.

'What do you mean? I feel fine! I'm right as rain!' emphasized Tom, 'Little blue men...' he muttered darkly.

Detritus walked through the splintery wooden door of the Watch House. He tapped a zombie on the shoulder.

''Ey Reg, is you knowing if Igor is dere? Dis man is not in good shape.' asked the sergeant.

'I don't think he's in right now, but I can wait for him with this guy if you want.' said Corporal Reg Shoe, 'I've got a helluva lotta paperwork, an' if I don't finish it all, Vime's gonna go spare.'

'Fanks, an' good luck wid der paperwork.' concluded Detritus.

'Little blue men! Ahahahahhaahahah!' giggled the apprentice hysterically.

The Corporal ignored Tom's ecstatic giggles, and continued writing. He had seen his fair share of lunatics during his life and his undead life, and he wasn't about to let another one put him off his paperwork.

'I'm gonna get you, little blue men, so you'd better watch your back.' Tom threatened darkly, 'Muhahhhahhahahah!' Those little blue men...those fairies...had ruined his life. He was going to...going to KILL them...

Reg started to wonder whether the Watch House was the right place for him, since he obviously belonged in the Insane Asylum. Ah well, better wait until Igor comes...

The clock ticked on... Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The metal pendulum of the clock swung on... Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The minute and the hour hands moved slowly towards the XII on the old grandfather clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The hour hand and the minute hand moved over the XII on the face of the ancient clock. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG. GONG.

All over the city, the bells sounded. Over in the old quarter of Ankh, in Unseen University, the old, cracked, single bell the wizards called Old Tom tolled out twelve sonorous silences.

_Where the hell is that Igor, thought Reg Shoe to himself. Ah well, I'll call him._

'Igor! Are you there?!' shouted Shoe, looking up the stairs.

'Yeth! I'll be down in a moment, Corporal Thoe!' a husky, foreign sounding voice called.

A man that looked like a human version of a patchwork quilt lurched down the stairs. His face was a network of scars and stitches. His name was Igor. People like that usually have names like that.

'Well, what ith it? Don't tell me that I came all the way downthtairs just to say hello.' lisped Igor, scars crawling down his face.

'Igor, there's a young man 'ere who need your help. He got run over by a cart.' said Reg explanatorily.

'Thith does not look good.' pondered Igor, 'I thall have to operate on this young man. Please carry him into the bathement for me. I think I thall need to uthe a device that ith still in the exthperimental stage, anaestheticth.'

They walked down the stairs into the unknown.

'Thet scunner didnae seem tae heppy tae meet us. Well, we must be offski! Lead on, Awf'lly Titchy!' said the leader of the feegles.

The pictsies blurred, and vanished into the distance.

 It is always a wise move to be polite to strangers. Especially when the person in question has just lifted you two feet of the ground, and is proceeding to yell your eardrums out.

 Corporal Reg Shoe was a proud activist of undead rights, and he stuck posters on the insides of coffins that said:

**TODAY COULD BE THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!**

**Just because you are dead doesn't mean you have to lie down and do nothing! JOIN THE UNDEAD UNION TODAY!! EVERY 'BODY' COUNTS!!**

in 15 different languages and in various dialects. He was also against speciesism, and had a dream that every man, troll, dwarf, vampire or werewolf, dead or alive, should have equal rights.

 People on the Disc were not racist. There was no point in discriminating people for their colour when they had far more interesting things like species to discriminate.

 Old Tom was an ancient bell put in the Tower of Art hundreds of years ago. Its clapper had fallen out shortly after it had been hung up, but it still tolled out deafening silences every hour.

 Igor left his native Uberwald for Ankh Morpork, as when he was in Uberwald, he hated the traditional idea. Besides, he could never get used to lisping and calling people 'Marthter'.


End file.
